singillatim | seven devils all around you, seven devils in your house

seven devils all around you, seven devils in your house

JUNE 2024 EVENT

PART ONE — A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME: The Darkwalker claims another victim, and that is only the beginning of troubles for the Interlopers as they face a month of endless night and green gloom.

PART TWO — POLAR SUN: As June continues, Interlopers are faced with food insecurity as wildlife flees; tensions grow as they face hunger and the Darkwalker's continued influence. On the day of the Summer Solstice, the tension finally breaks and violent chaos descends upon Interlopers.

PART THREE — REPRIEVE: The end is in sight, and an ally comes to the Interloper’s aid.

A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME

WHEN: June 1st, then onwards.
WHERE: Milton area; Lakeside area (Carter Hydrodam).
CONTENT WARNINGS: death of playable character; supernatural death; mention of dead body; themes of death; supernatural beings; themes of terror; themes of peril.

The evening is quiet and still. May draws to a close and while the sun does not completely set, it dips low enough for the sky to grow a little darkdim with twilight. The midnight sun is almost upon the Northern Territories, the air is warmer than it has ever felt — even if it remains chilly. If this is summer, it is but a gentle brush of reprieve against the unyielding winter. The Interlopers wind down for the night, many turn to their beds to sleep, others sit awake and ponder their existence in this world. They think of home, of loved ones, of their predicament here in this place. The Forest Talkers, the strange beasts and monsters they’ve encountered.

The moon wanes in the skies, nestled amongst the stars. For those still awake to notice, they can see it: slowly, one by one, the stars begin to go out. Then the moon's light is swallowed whole, and a blanket of green gloom descends upon the Northern Territories.

The sky is dark and green and terrible. Many of those will recognise it, what this means and what will come. Others will not understand it, not know what it is that awaits them all.

They will soon find out: the Darkwalker comes.

Under a green sky, a cold fear washes over you — squeezing the breath from your lungs. Interlopers will find themselves overcome with that fear, and everything in their bodies and minds tells them to run. To flee. And so you run, heading for cover. Curtains will be drawn, some may hide under beds, within closets or wardrobes. Some desperately attempt to conceal themselves, make themselves small, unseen. Some Interlopers, in that fear, may rush to friends or loved ones to hide with them, others may simply cower alone — crawling and whimpering away from the night. The fear is irrational, unable to be overcome — even by the bravest or most stoic of Interlopers.

For those within Milton, it is further away but is by no means less potent: Interlopers will find themselves frozen with the constant loom of the Darkwalker’s arrival — even if it does not come to Milton. Those within Lakeside, however, will feel the true force of this presence: more like a knife edge — painfully gripping your heart as it draws close.

The Darkwalker howls: indescribable, unnatural, demonic. Low moans and groans. It comes from the east, the faint booms of footsteps in the distance growing ever nearer. It is coming, once more. It's coming for one of you. And still, you are powerless, unable to do anything. And it is an agony, awaiting its arrival. You cry, you whimper, you cower. Curling up for some shred of comfort, and finding none.

For those in Lakeside, through the fear, they may be able to note the path: a straight line from the east towards Carter Hydrodam. It seems to go on forever, building into a crescendo. Your heart beats so hard you fear it may burst from your chest, as if you might die of fright.

There is an almighty sound; the Darkwalker devours and even with the distance you can hear it. The sound of gnashing teeth, and… laughter. There is no scream, no bright light in the sky — Enola is silent this time. There is only that laughter, echoing off into the night.

The skies do not return to normal. The green gloom hangs in the air. It is done, but it is not yet over. While the overwhelming fear dissolves away, but a kind of… dread remains on the air — almost palpable.

The Darkwalker has devoured another. Braver souls who go out to investigate into Lakeside will find just who has been devoured once they reach the Hydrodam — although it may be a day or two before they will find the body in the medical bay.

At least it is cold enough that the rot does not fully set in — but death will certainly be here.

And this is but the beginning of the Interloper’s troubles.

POLAR SUN

WHEN: The month of June, up to Midsummer’s Eve + Summer Solstice.
WHERE: Milton area; Lakeside area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; food scarcity/food insecurity; supernatural weather; altered mental states; mental manipulation; themes of violence; potential character injury; potential character death; potential NPC death.

In the coming weeks and days, and weeks, the green gloom lingers. From the Darkwalker’s attack, there is no sun. No day, no night. No stars or moon or sun. No Auroras. Just the gloom and biting cold. Life becomes increasingly hard on Interlopers: higher expenditure on fuel — fires and lanterns are imperative to keep the darkness and the cold at bay.

With the green gloom in the air, the wildlife becomes more scarce — as if it has been frightened away into the deeper parts of the wilds. It will be harder to bring in fresh meat in both Milton and Lakeside, and Interlopers will find that they will have to rely on whatever stores they have — and perhaps even rationing for a while.

And it’s not the only thing frightened. Even with the debilitating fear that comes with the Darkwalker’s attack gone, there is still a kind of fear that lingers on the air that slowly eats away at the Interloper’s resolve over time.

Interlopers will find themselves anxious, on edge. Some will be prone to anger in their fear, others prone to fits of melancholy: tearfulness and sorrow. Between the cold, the lack of fresh game and the fear on the air — it’s no wonder spirits are low. Bickering and minor upsets between Interlopers are likely.

They call it the midnight sun, the polar day. It's opposite is the polar night. This is neither and both. On the day of midsummer's eve, that fear on the air is even more palpable. The air feels a little stifling at times, as if the pressure is all off — often quite oppressive, a strange kind of tension. There is something brewing, a low burning thing that begins from the moment Interlopers wake — heavy and sharp in their chest.

’So, Interloper. What will you do now?’ A voice sneers in your ear. The very same voice that has haunted Interlopers since the very beginning. The Darkwalker finally speaks after all these weeks of gloom since its most recent attack. ’When all is gone, when even the sun does not rise? What will you do then?’

A nervousness sits within you as you remember the Darkwalker’s words. What will you do if the sun does not rise? If the darkness is all that is left? If the food runs out? Your wonderings will continue to gnaw away within you. The darkness is hollowing.

’Will you lean on others, like you have always tried to do?’ the voice continues. ’What bonds you hold with them, the ones with those around you. But how strong are they, truly? Can you trust them? Will it matter when your belly is empty and your heart is low? Perhaps it is time to see.

’Never forget, Interloper. I am the Rot. And I will rot within you.’

As the day progresses into the Solstice, that tension lingers in the air, and the wonderings within you continue to wear at you. You find yourself becoming more and more agitated as time goes on. Those feelings that have been brewing for some time now have started to grow close to boiling. You may snap at others, grow restless, become enraged at the tiniest of things — the upsets wildly out of proportion for the smallest slights or issues.

You find your thoughts wandering, too. Perhaps it is to someone you know in this place, or perhaps it is to someone previously unknown to you. Maybe you have an issue with this person, or perhaps the voice’s influence extends further — not only adding to your agitations but creating them, too. A slight, a grudge, a bias.

You feel a bitter gnawing within you. The nightmarish green gloom above you persists and everything bubbles up from within. From the dark, the anger within you become too much. The tension finally snaps.

For some, it might come out as a vicious argument where you air your grievances, or finally let slip the things you’ve been holding close to your chest. A verbal beat down, incredibly hurtful in nature. For others, things may be drawn to getting physical. A literal beat down where your fists grow bruised and bloody, or perhaps even worse. Whatever it is, you want to do damage to someone else — there is darkness here, and so many things come out in the dark, don’t they?

Like a ripple, all around you: all hell breaks loose. Chaos erupts, and the air is filled with violence.

Let’s hope you might stop, or someone else stops you, before someone gets killed.

REPRIEVE

WHEN: Circa three days after the Summer Solstice.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: blood.

All things must come to an end, even the most violent of deadly storms. In the midst of the seemingly endless violence of the night, you find yourself outside. Maybe you're fleeing from another Interloper, maybe you're desperately trying to reach someone you care for, maybe you're simply trying to find somewhere new to hide. Interlopers are hunting one another, blood lies on the snow, bodies too — some breathing, some not.

Perhaps it is a trick of the light. Perhaps it's the Darkwalker’s influence still warping your already frayed mind. Or it's the blood in your eyes, your battered and bruised body struggling to get through it all.

In the gloom, you see it. See her.

A woman, dressed in furs, stones and shells glimmering on her chest like armour, stands in the snow before you. Thin and pale, eyes sunken. Her chest heaves with each breath as she looks around with wide eyes. Her hands are bare and bloody. It drips slowly from her fingers. Is it her blood? Or someone else's? You cannot tell, but you cannot mistake how thick it coats her skin.

Her head turns to look at you. You are stunned, but not frightened. Even through the gloom, after a moment or two, her eyes widen in recognition: she knows you.

Slowly and silent, other than her noisy breathing, she draws close to you. Maybe in turn you draw close to her, closing the distance between you. Up close, her eyes are blue, and sad. You cannot mistake the sorrow in them. She is tired, weary. Her hair is dark, worn loose and long. For some, you feel as if you've seen her before, but you can't quite place her face.

Softly, she says your name.

For some, there may be no recognition. This woman is a stranger, who knows your name somehow. She has been silent the past couple of months, after all.

For others, hearing her speak brings a sudden, jarring realisation: this is Enola.

She’s here. Enola. All this time, she’s whispered to you in dreams, in static, in the very air itself.

She raises one hand, dark and dripping in the green light. Lightly, her fingers brush against your chest. You don’t feel the pressure of them, don’t feel the odd heat of blood — only the weight of her stare as she holds your gaze. It’s a long moment of peace in amongst the chaos.

You feel her exhaustion, a tiredness that sinks into your very bones. Apologies, too. You have never known anything like it. But there’s something else too, something that takes a moment or two to put your finger on. Defiance. A renewal. Something shifts in the air, a growing tension, different from the kind that’s been held on the air throughout the month. It’s the coming of a storm, the rolling clouds, the growing rumble of thunder before the first lightning strike.

Enola nods, her expression grave. She pulls away and turns from you — her head lifting towards the skies as she walks. Her arms raise, bloodied hands twisting and tensing before her. They curl, almost into fists, and she makes a gesture: the slow tearing of something huge and invisible before her — a shriek spilling from her lips. A battle-cry, a last stand, a wail of agony. It echoes.

The sky cracks and splits open before you, dazzling light and colours blinding your vision into pure white. The world tilts too hard below your feet, and you don’t remember passing out.

When you awaken, Enola is gone. The skies are clear and blue, the sun is high in the sky. As you pick yourself up from the snow, in the harsh light of the polar day, blood has never looked so red. The horrors of the night laid bare. Interlopers are dead, but the Darkwalker’s influence is gone. For now.

In the wake of Midsummer, all Interlopers can do is try reconcile. Bury the dead, rebuild, lick wounds. But that feeling in the air still remains — that different, new kind of tension that has come with Enola’s appearance. The first of the lightning bolts has struck, but more are coming.

FAQs

A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME

1. Alexander Hilbert has been devoured by the Darkwalker. His remains can be found in the Hydrodam. The following note has been left by Kates concerning his death: ‘Sveta gets possession of his research notes + blood samples + creepy lab journal because it's all in Russian, lmao.’

2. Information on the Darkwalker’s attack can be found here.

3. Usually, after the Darkwalker attacks, the sky would return to normal. This won’t happen. Instead, the usual atmospheric changes that occur during Darkwalker attacks will remain in place as June continues..

POLAR SUN

1. For an idea how the setting appears for June, it's like what you see in the game during the Escape The Darkwalker Challenge. Inside, there'll be a degree of green shades to rooms etc via what comes through windows but with it being lit up via fires and light sources, the gloom will be chased back.

2. Characters are free to use this event to kill NPC Interlopers. Methuselah and Young Bill are off the table, as are two marked NPC Interlopers. Please let Mods know if you intend on doing this for record keeping!

3. These acts of violence can be physical or verbal altercations, players are encouraged to work with the prompt however they'd like! However, anything potentially world-altering (ie. building destruction) must be first discussed with mods.

4. Interlopers under the Darkwalker's influence can be stopped in a number of ways. Showing genuine care and compassion in the face of violence is one way. Knocking an Interloper out is another way. Sometimes killing an Interloper may be needed, or simply restraining them and keeping them locked up somewhere so they can't hurt anyone else until the night is over would also work.

5. Talismans made by Heartman back in March with a Ward Sigil against the Darkwalker will come into effect during this prompt. It's been an ongoing process, with new Interlopers being offered them from their arrival. Players are free to choose what kind of talisman they received, or if they chose to get one at all. Their effectiveness is dependent on the type of blood used on the talisman.

— Animal Blood: Interlopers carrying talismans using blood from animals found in the world, such as deer, rabbits or wolves will find themselves more susceptible to the Darkwalker’s influence and disposition towards violence. They will be much harder to break out of the hold over them, and become almost frenzied state.
— Monster Blood: Interlopers carrying talismans using blood from any creatures or monsters that Interlopers have encountered in their time in the Northern Territories, such as the Serpent from December’s TDM will find there are no negative nor positive effects. The talisman is essentially useless. and Interlopers will fall under the Darkwalker's influence.
— Interloper Blood: Interlopers carrying talismans using blood for Interlopers will be offered protection/resistance from the Darkwalker’s influence and disposition towards violence. They may be slightly affected but will have their wits about them more compared to others. If the blood came from an Interloper with an Aurora Feat — this protection/resistance will be largely increased, an the Interloper may even feel braver, less affected by the fear in the atmosphere.
— No Talisman: Similar to the Monster Blood Talisman, Interlopers will be affected typically by the Darkwalker's influence in due course.

There are no additional affects with an Interloper using their own blood, just if they have an Aurora Feat or not.

6. Animals owned by Interlopers will be more frightened and will want to hide away in the build up — they will be disturbed by the world. Mostly lying down and whining/restlessness. They may display some signs of aggression on occasion, but not to the same degree of humans.

7. Forest Talkers are hidden away and will not be able to be reached during the Solstice.

REPRIEVE

1. Enola can only be met alone, but she will appear to all Interlopers in Milton.

2. Enola will be nowhere to be found afterwards, there are no tracks to be followed. She has simply vanished.

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

>>Community Center cw discussion of hunting, hunger, animal butchering, rationing

[Clearly, he's been missed by his very adoring fans. Tim's demanding the attention of the people gathered at the Center, up on the stage again and making himself heard. (He has a persistent cough, dry and tired, but don't mind that.)

He quickly lets it be known he's not holding a town meeting, not entertaining a big debate either.

The fact is, he has food. You tune in a little after he explains this is the very reason for the Rabbit Ranch.]

-and of course those who can hunt should first make that effort. Game might be scarce but foraging is also an option we can't just sleep on. Everyone, and I mean everyone, ([hickey]) is welcome to the farmed... meat.

[But.]

But in an effort... to stay transparent, and fair. We will need to approach this with logic and we'll have to run checks. Not just on inventory but on who is recieving what portions.

This running list will eliminate confusion. It will be a public list. This will eliminate... human error. Or suspicion of.

The rabbits will be available to everyone. Anyone who asks. But for the sake of everyone else... failure to name yourself as a recipient might forfeit your eligibility for seconds.

So let's hope it doesn't come down to that.

[Paradise Farms, the Rabbit Ranch-- it's fucking booby trapped so don't you dare sneak off to hold them buns hostage. Questions, comments, concerns, (and Hickey) are welcome while Tim sticks around the town hall.]

>>This Could be Paradise cw: fire, property damage, animal death, animal life in peril

The days (the night) drag on and on. The sky stays tinged green. Everything in Tim's vision is plagued in green. He gets hungry fairly quickly- he's a city boy, was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He goes back to old habits, finds a dry stick on the ground and puts it in his mouth and pretends it's chewing gum or whatever. It tastes like nothing, and he's hungry.

He fetches bunnies for people, and now he knows how to process them. He keeps the skins when he can. He never takes meat when it's not meant for him.

But of course there's no such thing as order when people are panicked and starving, and the number of rabbits doesn't match up with the math. The list is next to useless, if it was ever maintained at all.

And the thing is, the infuriating thing is, it could have worked out. It could have worked well. Tim plans and plans some more, but it's nonsense that this responsibility is his alone. Even after screaming his growing pains out loud, this mission to keep people fed has been his alone.

One day, you want for a rabbit from the colony of Paradise Farms.

This day, the barn is on fire.

The animals inside are panicked. But the flames have started to eat at the hay in the nursery first-- if you act quickly, if you call for help, you can save the animals from being consumed by the flames.

((have fun, feel free to make the fire-fighting a Party! by all means, go wild. and where's tim during all of this? he may pop in for a thread, but WILDCARD him if your character would seek him out.))

[Leaving was a mistake. It feels so long ago. Time moves so much faster yet slower in this world than in the one they came from - when a month felt like years, and the challenges never stopped coming.

The Darkwalker came and it broke him - the starvation, the exhaustion, the loneliness, the paranoia. They're lambs for the slaughter, all of them. Even the strongest among them. Even him.

It all feels so small. Forest Talkers, electricity, supplies. He'd resorted to eating his emergency wolf meat - then melting down any of his leather supplies into something edible. So many of these people don't deserve to live. The way they've turned on eachother, erupted into violence. Why should he have to change himself if they all stay the same selfish creatures? Why should he have to eat the animals he cares for, when he could eat this ecologically worthless species that takes and takes and takes?

It's thoughts like that that move him away from Lakeside.

He didn't realize he was coming back to the barn - to Batcow, to his... brother, even.

And it's all on fire. Batcow is in there. He trusted Tim to take care of her. To take care of everything. Like how Father trusted me to take care of Alfred.

He wants to apologize. To yell at him. To punch him. To make him get some fucking sleep. All he can do is scream.]

TIIIIM!!

[Why wouldn't Tim be out here rescuing the animals? The only answer he can think of is that he's inside too.

Someone did this. Find them... find them and fucking kill them.]

[ Returning from Lakeside to find the barn on fire is something Lalo wasn't expecting, but probably should have been. If he had been full of confidence that he'd narrowly evaded the Darkwalker's visit to the Hydrodam, coming back to the fire dampens his thrill considerably.

He jogs over to the barn-- jogging is all he can manage right now, without collapsing into a coughing heap-- but his condition won't stop him from trying to put out the fire.

Fuck.

It's not Tim's voice he hears as he gets close, but another kid's. A kid he doesn't recognize, but right now, that's not important. He's planning to head into the barn, when he sees the kid coming into view. Not Tim. Another dark-haired kid. ]

HEY! Hey! Grab something! Come with me. We're gonna put out the flames!

[ He speaks like he expects to be followed; Lalo is used to commanding people, and doesn't even think about how some people might not respond well to that.

But secretly he, too, can't help some internal resentment that he, of all people, is now being forced to act like the bigger person in the face of a bunch of idiots who can't control themselves. ]

[Grab something. What a useless command.

Ordinarily, the simple act of commanding him would be enough to get his hackles to rise - to snap back that they don't know who the fuck they're talking to, evidently.

It was Tim who argued against intervening. Against attacking the manor when it was under siege. Smug prick. And it was Damian who insisting on putting his faith in his dad instead.

Find them. Bisect them. Nails driven into their skulls. Starve them until they're skin and bones. Slit their throats. This won't happen again.

He nods. His voice is unsteady when he speaks. Much less the symbol of justice or conquest that he's supposed to be, much more the scared child that he is.]

My - there's a cow in there. She's providing us with milk. Prioritizing her after rescuing Tim is the strategic choice.

[There might be a bull too. He's been away for a bit. He brings his scarf up to his nose to avoid the smoke inhalation before following. There are buckets inside - a stash of water bottles. He can salvage this.]

Edited 2024-06-16 14:57 (UTC)

Louis has been helping here and there with Tim's bunny farm since its inception. He doesn't know a thing about animals, but he has goods to trade and he wants blood. (Tim doesn't know about the blood. He suspects Louis is some sort of werewolf with carnivorous cravings.) Sometimes Tim culled rabbits that weren't fit for consumption or survival, but Louis could spare him the deed. Louis took them gently in his arms, and they were never seen again.

When the conflagration burns bright enough that it can't be ignored, Louis is there in a breath with supernatural speed. Where is everyone? Louis hardly cares for the animals as he would a human. They are not the young girl he saved from the flames. Still, they are part of what helps him maintain a non-people diet, and he is perilously close to losing it. He rolls his jacket in the slush of melting snow and covers his head.

It's foolish. Fire hurts vampires. Fire and the sun. Louis doesn't get far. Louis emerges, coughing, little ones tucked into his coat and stuffed into his pockets. The smoke has knocked out his charges, but they're still alive. Where will he even put them? He collapses a safe distance away, skin ruddy with too much heat. He's hungry from Free Running. He's hungry because he's just hungry. One of the bundles he pulls out is charred. They will die from shock. He doesn't know their name. Tim probably would.

He sinks his fangs into the fur, and his eyes dilate with the briefest of reprieves.

The pieces fit. The girl - the vampire arrived... was it a month ago? Two months? They come in groups in this town. There's the sailors. Him, Tim, Jason. The connection between the girl and Louis is obscure, but pieces still fit together regardless. A comparison being made in Louis' eyes whenever Damian spoke or looked a certain way. The child who is not a child.

Vampire.

Fine. Potentially dangerous but as established, so is everyone here. He can forgive the lying, he can forgive the sanctimonious fucking hypocrisy, he can forgive a lot more than anyone actually thinks he's capable of because they judge him entirely on their preconceived pearl clutching naive ideas of right and wrong and justice and fairness and mercy when they have no fucking idea what it's like to be raised to be a tyrant.

What he can't forgive is this.

Did Louis start the fire? Is he just taking advantage of it? Did Louis kill Tim in a blind frenzy? There are several others around town that have been killed via ensanguination. Louis' handiwork? Claudia's? Someone else?

His actions this month have been a blur. The motion between standing and watching in shock and driving his fist into Louis' celiac plexis is not one that sticks out in his short term memory.

"You! Vulture! Murderer!"

His scathing anger would be more effective if he wasn't clearly on the verge of tears.

Edited 2024-06-16 15:12 (UTC)

Louis crumples and drops the charred corpse in the snow. The smell of burning meat remains indelibly in his nose. Louis knows not everyone understands the gift of a fast death instead of a slow one, but he thinks this aggression is a little out of place, even if Damian's words are technically true. Louis has not committed a murder connected with this conflagration.

He'd bite his arm, but he wants to speak. He can't speak; Damian has done a number on his diaphragm. Isn't this kid associated with Tim? Isn't he invested in the welfare of what rabbits remain? If Damian continues hitting him, the rabbits in his care may come to harm. If Louis turns them loose to fight or flee properly, they will die in the snow.

Louis covers the quivering lumps with his arms when one would ordinarily cover their face. A rabbit does escape despite it all, darting away from fire and combatants alike. He kicks out randomly at his assailant, baring his fangs in a threat display.

Damian's own lip curls into a snarl. The strike knocks him back, making him drop into a graceful and practiced roll. A concession he allowed due to his own hesitation due to the safety of the rabbits.

It's so tempting. Take his head. Slice his throat. Drive his fist through the monster's skull. Vampires have famous weaknesses, but they rely on their brain to survive like everyone else. Being brought here brings Louis down to the level of anyone here. Less, even, because he still has his appetite.

He's not the only one.

His arms go to protect the rabbits. One of them runs away because Damian kicked him.

It's hard to reckon with that in the haze of a screaming voice in his head crying for blood. It would be so easy. To blame this on Louis. The voice that doubted him, kicked him while he was down like every other godforsaken adult has ever done in his life.

Through clenched teeth, he asks tightly, "Did. You. Do. This?"

No. The answer is no. Obviously. He's wasting time. Batcow could be in there. Tim could be in there. There's no use in vengeance in the face of losing everything. That's a lesson he's learned again and again, but the rage is suffocating him. He's so hungry, so paranoid, and this parasite... there are corpses all over Milton. Strangers. Others.

"No," he finally gets out. He gasps again, and the cold air hurts, but it's clear. "What kind of fool... sets a fire... then runs into it to save animals?"

...All right, he might do something extremely foolish like an arson and regret double feature if he were in enough emotional turmoil and took leave of his senses. But despite the smoke, he's more clear-headed than he has been in a while. He had a little bit of blood. He has a goal, even if he is a weak hungry vampire scrabbling in the snow.

Did Damian think he was guilty because he was in the wrong place or because he fed in front of him? He looks at the charred dead corpse of the rabbit whose life he ended, but he doesn't really see it. The dire circumstances and the taste of blood in his mouth covers everything with a dreamlike film.

"Have to—have to get up, put them in a box, find Tim—Didn't see him—" He mustn't imagine Tim slumped in some corner he missed, charred over, hair gone—

i.
[ There's a split-second calculus that happens when Vasiliy sees the bright red and orange flames billowing from one side of the barn.

One, this is a source of food for a large chunk of the population here, even if he himself and Kostya are both provided for by their own "farm", two, some well-meaning but inexperienced civilian might be in there, and three—aside from the deer corn in the hunting store, which has been a staple for their ptarmigans over the long, unending winter, there's livestock feed in there.

And it's all about to burn.

He throws his cigarette down into the snow with a soft hiss when the cherry meets its icy surroundings and breaks into a run directly toward the blaze, tossing the kit bag he'd been carrying on his shoulder down heavily in the snow a safe distance away and ripping open two presterilized packets of large gauze squares. He dips them in the snow, squeezing the snow into them with his bare hands to melt it into the fibers, then shakes off the unmolten crystals and holds it tight over his nose and mouth as he approaches.

The fire is so bright against their dim surroundings that the light stings his eyes, not just the smoke that constantly changes directions with the wind. He scans his surroundings for anyone else, first, and if he sees anyone he doesn't know to have a history with fire, police, or EMS, he immediately yells out— ]

Stay back! You'll inhale the smoke! That is carbon monoxide!

ii.

[ But if any interlopers have already emerged from the blaze with injuries or seem to be having trouble breathing, he's quick to act, dropping what he's doing as his countenance immediately shifts into something calm and perfectly in control. ]

You are going to be okay. We need to get you to fresh air.

iii. !! warnings for leaving animals to die !!

[ And, early in the progression of the blaze, when smoke begins to fill the storage room but not flames, one might notice that he has a very different, very utilitarian set of priorities than others would perhaps have—the rabbits and their kits go ignored in favor of going back and forth with fifty-pound bags of feed slung over his shoulder and held in place with the arm that isn't holding the wet gauze over his nose and mouth, running one at a time from the storage room into the snow, even once his own breathing becomes more visibly labored.

If he catches sight of anyone who seems like they might be available to help, he's quick to issue an order-slash-request: ]

See if you can find a wheelbarrow!

Edited 2024-06-09 14:46 (UTC)

[ By the time fire overtakes the barn, once rafters start crashing down and it would no longer even be safe for a properly protected firefighter, breathing has become laborious wheezing. Vasiliy's throat aches and burns, irritated from choking on smoke even having had the protection of a wet rag; his eyes sting, painfully dry, and he can't draw in a satisfying breath. His head hammers at the temples as he shakily lowers himself to sit on a bag of salvaged feed, the last brought out—singed black at the edges of the waxy paper bag, the chicken on the front warped and discolored. There's still regular dust on the bags, too— untouched relics from the barn's prior inhabitants. God, he's tired. So, so tired, drowsy even despite the excess of adrenaline surging through his system and the constant interruption of his own coughing.

He knows that he's inhaled too much carbon monoxide (among many other toxins), but it's not enough to be a life-threatening emergency. He just focuses on breathing the cold clean air, in and out, and staying awake. He has to catch his breath and regain his strength before he can hope to pull the few hundred pounds' worth of various livestock rations and two haybales he managed to save all the way back to the cabin on the long toboggan he plans on using as a sledge. He notices, too, the in addition to the soot on his left arm there's drying blood from some unnoticed injury. Probably cuts from broken glass, nothing he can't wait until he gets home to clean.

Once he starts to feel at least able to breathe marginally deeper than he was when he first emerged, Vasiliy heaves himself to his feet and pauses, head swimming, headache suddenly that much worse. He waits for it to ebb before he dares turn his head to look around the scene one more time, making sure that nobody else seems to need care, then grabs the rope handle at the head of the sled and begins to pull.

It's a slow, grueling affair over uneven terrain. Every 100 feet or so he has to stop to catch his breath, coughing madly as he bends over stacked feed backs and rests his weight on his forearms, closing his eyes and letting his head hang between the outbursts. After more than an hour, the form of the cabin at last comes into view. He pulls harder, poorly oxygenated muscles shaking with effort, and lets the rope fall from his hands as soon as he makes it to the path leading to the front door.

Kostya is home, as expected; Vasiliy has to pause a moment, coughing, before he's able to properly greet him and explain what happened. ]

The barn burned down. Everyone's okay. I was able to save some feed.

[ It's a strange month. The sky's a poison green, like something's spilled and tainted the air.

There's less food. A fact that might drift to his ears a little later than to others' — way out in their isolated cabin on the outskirts of town, with no method of instant communication. And they have their own means of staying fed, with the small farm they've started up. The thing inside of Konstantin stays fed too, routinely given what it needs. It's never an easy process, but he's found ways to keep it... bearable. He drinks blood from bottles, cups, bowls — never from the birds themselves. It's important that he only drinks like a person would. And the alien seems to accept this, but...

...he's wondered, in the long-term, if it will be enough. He knows it isn't, not really — it's part of why he stays so sick. The alien needs to feed from humans to properly stabilise itself, which in turn would stabilise him. Without humans, they're surviving, but... not thriving. It's weak, he's weak. And then he hears of food becoming more and more scarce, of less and less wildlife being encountered. And the fear grows and grows, making him restless; he doesn't want to leave the cabin, to be around others. He spends his days tending to the animals who are made just as restless by the strange environment, growing more quiet and somber as the days progress.

(It'll come down to two options, eventually. He can run away, try to leave this place, and probably die. Or he can stay, and try to survive, and it'll mean killing other human beings.)

Konstantin's always oddly unsettled whenever Vasiliy's not home — a fact that only seems to worsen over time, over the days and weeks and months spent with the other man — like he can't truly relax, like something's missing. He can function on his own, but it's... limited; he feels less without him. Like Vasiliy's a limb, an organ. He aches, quietly, without him.

And then he's home again, but something's wrong. There's black staining him — soot, he realises, as the other man explains — and he's bleeding in places, but he's also coughing too much. Konstantin's so alarmed it hurts, stepping closer, reaching for his arm, eyes wide, heart pounding. He's never been affected by someone else like this in his life. ]

You went in?

[ Saved some feed. Over his shoulder, he can see the bags on the sled, drug all the way back here by Vasiliy alone... Konstantin's eyes widen; how did he even manage it? ]

Come in, come in, you need to sit down— [ He's pulling him towards the little area Vasiliy established to treat patients, coaxing him to sit, looking him all over. ] What can I get for you?

[ Vasiliy allows himself to be shepherded toward the table with its benches, lowering himself onto one of them with another hoarse cough. He’s not sure anyone’s ever been so concerned after him, other than his own mother, but it’s not suffocating, not overbearing—it’s just nice. Someone here cares about him in a way nobody’s come close to since he died.

He puts the bleeding forearm on the table, the thick dark hair around the cut plastered down with a mix of dried blood and charcoal. ]

A bucket to rinse my arm over. And if you could— [ Another cough. ] —the jug of sterile water on the floor and some soap.

[ The weight of a gallon jug of water would be nothing to him under ordinary circumstances, but after using every ounce of strength he has left to drag the multiple hundreds of pounds of feed he salvaged back to the cabin, lifting it is unthinkable. His muscles are weak, exhausted on a cellular level.

Vasiliy turns his forearm slightly, examining the extent of the cut, and notices for the first time the livid pink line across the skin of his palm, dug into it from the resistance on the rope he was pulling. He curls his fingers slightly, testing, and it brings forth a small twinge of pain and rawness that must have gone unfelt before now, a negligible concern in the grander scheme of things.

Now, however, the analgesic effect of the adrenaline is wearing off, giving way to bone-deep tiredness and an incredible soreness of every muscle in his body, in addition to a new awareness of his own injuries. It stings a bit, chafed. ]

[ Konstantin quickly fetches the items, setting the bucket down first and then moving for the jug, the soap. A towel gets tossed onto his shoulder as well, and then he's moving to stand next to the other man, looking worriedly down at his arm. That cut. It should be fine if it's washed, right, but he can't help worrying that maybe it won't be. Infection could set in quickly around here — and they don't have access to better medicines. Vasiliy did bring some things back from Lakeside, but what if it isn't enough?

Fortunately, no matter the whirlwind of concerns in his mind, Konstantin remains a stable presence externally; he won't freeze, he keeps working. He uncaps the jug of sterilised water and places one hand on its side. ]

I can wash it for you. You just tell me what to do.

[ It's likely a straightforward task, to gently soap and rinse the cut, but if there are any other steps along the way, Vasya will know.

While he stands there, Konstantin gives a soft exhale; his initial worry is persistent, but he can still recognise the importance of it all. He's always known Vasiliy to be so hard-working, but this... ]

It's incredible that you managed to pull all of that back alone... And while wounded. Vasya, you're remarkable.

It's not... serious. Just a scrape. It's already stopped bleeding. And I had the sled.

[ It's in his nature to deflect the compliment—but that doesn't mean that he doesn't hear it, tired and dizzy as he is, and it doesn't mean that it doesn't warm him from the inside out. It's not why he did what he did, of course, but... being seen feels good. Especially being seen by Kostya.

(Nobody else here matters, not like that.) ]

Just soap and water to wash it off. It's shallow. I think I— [ Another little hacking fit. When he picks back up what he was saying, his voice is hoarser than it already was previously. ] I think I just scraped it on something.

[ Whatever Konstantin is about to say in response is immediately halted as Vasiliy starts coughing — a rough, calloused sound. Considering he just came from a burning environment, it's worrisome, extremely worrisome, and the older man's brows are knitting again as he frowns.

He can't chide Vasiliy for down-playing his own injuries; he'd do the same. But being on this side of it... it's something else entirely. His frown persists as he reaches gently for his arm, lifting it up over the bucket. His other hand pours a little bit of the water out over the scrape so that he can get it a bit wet, and then he's reaching for the soap, lathering before hesitating for a moment. ]

Might sting, [ he warns (not that Vasiliy, the EMT here, wouldn't know that), and then he's gently coaxing his soapy hand to the wound to brush his thumb lightly over it, not pressing inwards.

As he does, he lifts his brows and looks up at the other with a quiet intensity. ]

Is your throat all right? Your lungs? [ They certainly don't sound all right. ]

Polar Sun (cw throughout: animal death)

this could be paradise | OTA

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This Could be Paradise | + cw: burns, animals being put down vampire style

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cw: corpse and burns mentions

ii. this could be paradise | OTA

iv. for kostya

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iii

hopefully it's ok if i do my replies in brackets!!

yes it's fine!

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vi. aftermath — for tim

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